We rode the way up the elevator, Nate punching in a code that took us straight to Bishop’s penthouse. The doors spread out and opened onto a sea of young people and rock music blaring through all the bodies. I couldn’t even admire the house as much as I would have liked because there were people everywhere, but from what I could see, it was set up like a three-story loft. I walked to the edge of the little balcony that the elevator opened out on and peeked at the place.
Nate gestured to the back of himself. “Basketball court, too.” He shot us a wink before disappearing. He was acting weird lately, weirder than usual.
After taking the two steps down onto the main lobby, I snatched a drink from a waiter passing by and took a long swig. I felt people’s eyes on me, but I ignored them all, focused on my search for Bishop. The song moved to “It’s a Vibe” from Ty Dollar sign and I couldn’t fight the eye roll. Obviously, Nate had found the sound system.
I started slightly pushing through the bodies and taking the two steps down from the lobby and kitchen area, down to the open sitting room when my eyes fell on Bishop who was stretched out on the sofa. His bare chest rippled under every movement, his tattoos flexing along with them. He had a red bandana tied to the front of his head, jeans that looked to have been out in the sun for a beat too long, and since he hadn’t actually texted me since a couple days ago, I was trying hard not to make it obvious how much I was checking him out. And—yep, he was drinking again. His eyes collided with mine and I felt as though the air was sucked out from my lungs. Machine Gun Kelly started rapping about being a “bad mother fucker,” just as the rim of his bottle touched his lip. His eyes stayed on mine, as the corner of his mouth slowly kicked up in a grin. I was hoping for a reaction. A caveman Bishop—if you will, but all I got was a brush off. Jesus. Was he still holding a grudge about Nate, Brantley, and I? I guessed it would be valid since he had let me off on it lightly, but I knew Bishop. He was calculated. He did everything for a reason and he performed it with expertise. Or maybe I had broken him a little, but even as I thought those words, I knew that that wasn’t possible. You just couldn’t break someone like Bishop. He was too… unbreakable.
So I did what any sane girl my age would do while under the influence. I yanked my eyes from his and went in search of my partner in crime. Bypassing the sea of people, I found myself again, annoyed that I couldn’t truly appreciate Bishop’s new condo, with the influx of women and—few men. Huh. There were more women than there were men. Surprise, surprise. Yet again, I didn’t know what game he was playing at, and before I could allow my brain to begin sifting through the possibilities, my toes started to tingle and my legs wobbled like jelly. Maybe I shouldn’t have started drinking so fucking early. Searching for a room—any room—away from all the people, I shoved through a pair of black doors and came into what I was guessing was the master bedroom. There was a bed that looked as though it was floating in the center, a large television hanging on the wall opposite, and directly in front of me was a wall of glass overlooking the city. The sheets and blankets were all silken black and red, and even the little seat that was in the corner was more like a throne in blood red leather. There wasn’t much else to the room—the penthouse itself felt more like an art studio. It wasn’t warm and inviting, and on that thought, I started backing up, ready to get the fuck out of here while deeply regretting even attending. Tate and her stupid decisions. Slowly stepping backward, I collided with a hard wall of muscle and a small squeal leaped out from my mouth. Jumping around to see who I backed into, Hunter’s piercingly dark eyes were glaring down at me.
I calmed my erratic heart down. “Hey.” My newfound brother and I weren’t really on great terms, so I was still unsure of how I should step around him.
“Figure we may as well get this talk over with.” He tilted a large bottle of bourbon up to me, and then brushed past, heading straight toward the window. For a brief second, I considered running, but I’d been wanting to see Hunter for a while now. Since he found out about us being biological siblings, he had gone more than cold on me, so, I followed him to the window, looking him up and down. He looked good, like they all did. Wearing jeans and a tight fitting black shirt, you could almost make out the lines of muscle in his arms.
“I’m sorry.” Because I was obviously shit at this—being an only child all my life and all, ‘I’m sorry’ was the first thing that came out of my mouth.
He snorted and then raised the bottle to his mouth. “What exactly are you sorry for, Madison?” He didn’t look at me, he merely kept his eyes forward, watching as the busy streets of the Upper East Side remained awake.
“I don’t know.” I followed his line of sight. The tension between us was loud. “Existing?” A chuckle slipped out before I could stop it and his eyes slammed into mine.
“This is funny to you?” he accused, his eyes narrowing on me. They dropped to my lips and then to my eyes. “I wanted to fuck you, and then I find out that the girl I used to pull off on is my sister…” he smirked. “I guess that makes me a little sicker than Brantley, and that’s saying something.” His eyes went back to the window.
“You’re not sick, Hunter,” I muttered, swallowing past the emotion that was threatening to surface in my throat. “And you weren’t the only one who had thoughts…”
His movements stilled. I took this moment to reach over and snatch the drink from him, wrapping my lips around the rim and tilting back, letting the warm liquid slide down my throat. “There was this one time,” I laughed, suddenly realizing how bad this was about to sound. I swiped the residue from my lips and handed the bottle back to him. I could feel his eyes watching me as he absently took the bottle from me, waiting for my confession. “I had this very intense dream that involved all of you. In my head, I had already fucked you, so there, I trump yours.”
There was a long pause and I couldn’t bring myself to look him in the eye. “And if you tell anyone, I’ll kill you.”
Suddenly, his laughter cracked through the cold room and my eyes snapped to his, catching him rubbing the tears from his cheeks. “Well, yeah, that makes me feel a little better, but I can assure you, I fucked you in my head too.” After that, I felt a sense of calm come between us. A lot easier than what it was a second ago.
“Tell me about Daemon and I’ll tell you about your biological parents.”
That was unexpected. I hadn’t thought much about my biological parents, mainly because I didn’t have time to. My life was an information dictionary and I was constantly being fed the unedited version that had to continue to be revised and changed.
“Well,” I started. “I don’t know much about him because he’s new in my life, but what I do know about him I go off instinct. Probably some sick twisted twin thing, but it’s hard to explain. I don’t know him, but I know him. It doesn’t even make sense, it’s like a bond of natural instinct. He doesn’t speak much English, but he’s fluent in Latin—like all of you, only better at it—no offense—”
He chuckled, throwing his hands up. “Hey, none taken. He’s a Princeps Lost Boy. Latin was his first language.”
“So weird,” I added absently. “Anyway, he’s… different. It didn’t take me long to figure that out.” Hunter stepped backward, falling onto the bed. I turned to face him, my back pressing against the brisk glass. I slid down until I was seated on the floor. “I don’t really know what’s wrong with him, but Bishop and everyone keep saying he’s different.”
Hunter searched my features. “I’m not going to lie to you, or hide anything from you because I feel like you’re in this shit way too deep to not know, so I’m going to do you a solid and tell you that yeah, Daemon is different, I guess you could say.” My jaw felt as though it had hit the floor. For once, someone was being straight up with me. Hunter continued, his eyes carefully watching mine as if he was waiting for a reaction. “He has a—I guess you could say—a form of schizophrenia, only, a lot darker.”
I faltered. “Schizophrenia?”